


The (totally not) Mysterious Doctor Hat-Trick

by Lissamel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Dave is sorta better, Drunk love confessions, Eldritch Abomination Rose Lalonde, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, John is a bad supervillain, Look I don't know, M/M, Necromancy, Stephen King drinking games are not for amateurs, Underage Drinking, Well a minor section but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lissamel/pseuds/Lissamel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All mild-mannered John Egbert wants is to join the nefarious supervillain league C.R.o.C.K.E.R. and shove resident superhero, Deadeye, into her grave. Too bad he's utter crap and some necromancer douche upstaged what would have been a perfect crime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (totally not) Mysterious Doctor Hat-Trick

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaysNarnia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaysNarnia/gifts).



In the light of the late-afternoon sun, a sixteen year old boy held up a beaker of a strange liquid to the light. It was a dark reddish-fuchsia, and it bubbled slightly, despite being applied to no heat. His mouth twitched into a smile as he looked down at his desk. Two packs of Fruit Gushers (Roboberry Ultra Blast and Xtreme Kiwi Xplosion, as the labels proudly proclaimed. He didn’t know what a ‘roboberry’ was supposed to be, or why replacing ‘ex’ with ‘x’ was still a thing, but they sounded good enough) had been opened, the snacks carefully laid out and the wrappers haphazardly thrown off to the side. A TV was on, since the boy was waiting for the three o’clock report to come on, but right now it was playing a commercial for manly soap or something. He picked up one roboberry Gusher and slowly poured one drop of the liquid onto the snack. It began to glow, then trembled and pulsated. The boy, in surprise, tossed it onto the ground. It shook violently, then from it’s fruity membrane it created four skinny legs (seemingly liquid, so they were made of the Gusher’s filling) and slit itself open, showing a gaping mouth with little gummy teeth. With two popping sounds, it gained eyes, which were literally two more roboberry Gushers with black dots in the center. The creature took a look around the room, taking notice of the boy, and made yapping sounds that was something akin to the sound an irritated lap dog made.

The boy, known to the mainstream public as budding mad scientist Doctor Hat-Trick, smiled broadly. He’d made his first _mutant_! With _science goo_! He hadn’t really thought science goo could do anything like this, mostly because he thought science goo doing literally anything was just a stupid trend eighties-and-nineties cartoons had (see: _Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles_ ’ mutagen), but he did it! He made a thing! With science goo! He smiled broadly at his creation, laughing and already thinking of the monologue he could give when all his mutant Gushers were created. This would be brilliant! His best scheme yet! His villainous laughter grew louder--

“Son, are you doing your biology homework up there?”

The villainous laughter stopped as budding mad scientist Doctor Hat-Trick, known by his high school and his family as a doofus named John Egbert, sighed loudly. “Of _course_ I am, dad!” He whined, then paused. His father didn’t press the topic. Good. He shushed the Gusher mutant, who hadn’t stopped yapping, and suddenly turned to the television as the commercials faded and a familiar jingle played.

_“This is the three o’clock C.R.o.C.K.E.R. update, with your hosts, Archie and Reginald.”_

“Good afternoon!” One of the hosts, Archie, said cheerfully. “We’re here for the daily update on C.R.o.C.K.E.R. and all schemes they may be planning, and what their nefarious leader, Miss Betty, has in store today!”

John immediately plopped in front of the TV. _Finally_. Three o’clock was the only time that they would broadcast the newest report from C.R.o.C.K.E.R. (this standing for **C** riminal **R** etinue **o** f **C** rooks with a **K** nack for **E** fficient **R** uses, which probably wasn’t the _best_ acronym), the best of the best league of supervillains. If you meant _anything_ , you were part of C.R.o.C.K.E.R. and serving under the elusive and mysterious leader, Miss Betty. He yearned, more than anything, to wear that group’s red uniforms and be part of their plans of world domination and destroying the resident superheroine. Oh, wouldn’t that be something…

“Miss Betty appears to be lying low this month, Archie.” Reginald said, shifting a stack of papers. “We have heard no official news of her latest plan to smite our local superheroine, known only as Deadeye.”

A picture of said superheroine appeared in the upper corner, above Reginald’s head. She wore a standard golden age superhero costume, mostly in green but with trimming of white and black, with tall boots and gloves and a breastplate made of some alien metal. Her hair was long and black, her eyes having incredibly light green scleras and pupils shaped like cartoony, rounded-off stars. Deadeye was an alien girl from a far away planet, sent to this world for reasons unknown but decided to be the typical superheroine and stop crime with her larger-than-average also alien dog, Ballistic. She could fly, had super strength, could control that alien dog telepathically, and was _damn_ good with literally any gun _ever_.

She also went to his high school, wearing glasses and green contact lenses to make her eyes look normal, under the name Jade Harley. While John could see through such a clever disguise, nobody else in the school seemed to be able to. It was just a shame she knew his secret identity too…

“On the plus side, though, she started round two of the Fantasy Supervillian League! For those who want all the fun of Fantasy Football but don’t like sports, join the Fantasy Supervillain League for a similar experience. It’s not too late to create your own team from all the registered supervillains here in Skaia City!”

“Prizes will be given out on an unspecified date by Miss Betty personally! Odds of getting brutally slaughtered by these prizes now only one in five.”

The hosts laughed, and the Gusher mutant began yapping as they did. John growled at it, getting up to douse his other Gushers in this science goo. _Clearly_ those two had nothing important to say--

“However, she may be lying low because she’s looking for new recruits for C.R.o.C.K.E.R.!”

John whirled around as Reginald offered up this explanation.

“That’s right, Reggie! All you budding supervillains out there, get your best heists on, because C.R.o.C.K.E.R. may be watching you! C.R.o.C.K.E.R. is always watching. So you amateur crooks out there, keep an eye on your mailboxes!”

John’s eyes absolutely lit up. C.R.o.C.K.E.R.--Miss Betty--They were looking for new supervillains! Really!? Well, Archie and Reginald have never steered him wrong before! With newfound gusto, he doused each xtreme kiwi and roboberry Gusher in his science goo, and as they trembled and glowed and became doglike monsters he tossed them onto the floor in his room. Once they were all sentient and monstrous, he grouped them up into a little area and hopped atop his bed, staring down at his artificially fruit-flavored army. “Come, my minions!” He began, since now was as good of a time as any to begin a rousing speech. “Now, as one of you has heard, the nefarious evil villain league under the name of C.R.o.C.K.E.R. is looking for new recruits! Well, maybe, no official word yet...But we’ll pretend it’s true. So, starting tomorrow, we must rise up! We will plan a heist so great, so _perfect_ , that we’ll catch Deadeye off guard and dazzle Miss Betty like she’s never been dazzled before! We will join C.R.o.C.K.E.R., or my name isn’t Doctor Hat-Trick! So!” He thrust a triumphant fist into the air. “Who’s with me!?”

The mutants broke out in a cacophony of yaps, and John laughed along with them, his rousing speech clearly getting through to them. The villainous laughter and loud yaps went on for a moment, then soon faded, as John hopped off his bed.

“Son, that doesn’t sound like biology homework to me.” His dad called from downstairs.

John groaned loudly.

~

In the dead of night, 3:26 AM to be exact, a mysterious figure approached the Skaia City Art Gallery. It approached a hidden back trapdoor, used as a fire exit in times of emergency, and ever so slowly crawled in, a horde of strange dog-esque creatures behind it.

The trapdoor led into a storeroom, the door helpfully unlocked by a careless security guard. Brilliant. It pushed the door open and stared into the art gallery.

There was one good thing about being a criminal mastermind in a city with a superhero: because they _had_ a superhero that could, in theory, stop all crime; security was really really lax. Practically nonexistent. The young supervillain, Doctor Hat-Trick, smirked and pulled out what appeared to be a Super Soaker, the really cool-looking kind that if you were six years old would make you the coolest kid on the block. He didn’t plan to steal any of the artwork--That’d just be stupid. The Skaia City Art Gallery only contained art that wasn’t cool enough to be in any of the actual _good_ art galleries, and if the villain’s rough guesses were correct, were worth jack shit. Besides, they could track the paintings back to him and then he’d be in jail and his dad would have to bail him out. _Again_. While it was a miracle that his father thought John Egbert and Doctor Hat-Trick were two different people, he was running out of excuses as to why he kept ending up in that specialty supervillain jail and why he needed to pay bail, right now, please.

No, no, that’d be terrible. Doctor Hat-Trick had a much better plan.

He approached a portrait of a previous leader of Skaia City from eons ago--A lord or something, and apparently a pretty shitty one--And aimed the Super Soaker at it. He pumped it a few times, then pulled the trigger. A steady stream of shaving cream poured out, and gleefully he splattered the cream on the portrait, the Gusher mutants watching in apparent awe.

He was just gonna burn this place down without a trace. Shaving cream was super flammable, after all.

The villain went around the art gallery, spraying every painting and sculpture and item in the gift shop and small bench with a seemingly limitless supply of shaving cream. Once done, he fumbled in his pocket for a lighter--

A window in the solarium lobby shattered. A person lept in, landed on Doctor Hat-Trick’s chest (causing him to fall in a pile of wayward shaving cream), and pointed a gun right at his nose. It was Deadeye, natch, today holding a blunderbuss. She had a firearm for _any_ occasion, so what better to use in a place of historic artwork then a historic blunderbuss?

There was a long pause, then the doctor said something. “Wow, aren’t you...Prompt.”

“It’s, like, three-thirty in the morning.” The superheroine said flatly, her eyelids lowering. “I’m tired as hell, so we’re going to cut back on the banter and the...And the puns and stuff.” She poked his nose with the blunderbuss, clearly lacking any sort of crime-fighting energy. He couldn’t blame her, he was sorta tired too, but when else could he splatter everything in the gallery with shaving cream? “So should I actually jail you or what?”

The Gusher mutants began yapping at Deadeye’s heels, but did nothing to attack. It was only now that it dawned on him that maybe, just _maybe_ , he should have trained them to attack before attempting to burn down the art gallery. She stared at them for a while, then tossed the blunderbuss into her other hand and pointed it accusingly at the mutants. “What are these?”

“They--They’re _Gusher mutants_! They’re cool! And totally deadly!”

She stared coldly down at them. The yapping suddenly ended. She sighed, shaking her head. “Pathetic. You call yourself a supervillain, John?”

“H--Hey! What did I say about using my secret identity?! I’m _Doctor Hat-Trick_ , amateur magician by day, mad scientist by night!”

“You bought a magician costume and put a labcoat over it.”

This was, indeed, true. His makeshift villainous costume was a cheap tuxedo with a labcoat atop it, a top hat (that was knocked off his head from the force of Deadeye landing on his chest), and a cape. But that was Doctor Hat-Trick’s gimmick, and indeed, the reason for his name--He was a _mad scientist magician_! Even if he focused more on the mad science then the magician part, but he’d work on it. He could always tweak the look when he got into C.R.o.C.K.E.R.. He frowned. “It’s only a _beta_ costume…”

“Besides, there’s no police or paparazzi here; I can call you whatever the hell I like. But seriously, is this worth jailing you for…Considering you’ll be bailed out again in, like, a day…”

“I didn’t _actually_ burn down the art gallery, so…”

“You were _going_ to?”

“Why else would there be shaving cream everywhere?”

She paused, blinking slowly, as though trying to rationalize why putting shaving cream everywhere would help him burn the gallery down, but she didn’t get the time. Another window in the solarium shattered, drawing the attention of both the superheroine and the supervillain.

It was a...A zombie?

Deadeye immediately held the blunderbuss at the ready, but where there was one reanimated dead guy, there were twenty more. Soon, swarms of cadavers piled in from the solarium windows, staggering beyond the two and into the main gallery.

She fired the blunderbuss. The Gusher mutants began their infernal yapping once more, chasing after the staggering zombies. Deciding that arresting Doctor Hat-Trick wouldn’t be worth it, Deadeye floated off his chest, going after the zombies invading the gallery. The villain awkwardly stood up, frowning hard. He was _upstaged_! By either the _apocalypse_ or some sort of _two-bit necromancer_! He grabbed his hat and put it back on, huffing as he scraped shaving cream off of his body and stomped towards a window. More zombies were staggering their way over, all ruining his perfect plan. If he leaned forward and squinted, he could kinda make out their leader: a shadowy figure, decently tall...Seemed to be wearing some sort of cloak, from what he could see...Dark sunglasses were over his eyes, but they did nothing of use, because he could see them glowing red from here. The zombies’ leader was staring vacantly at the gallery as cadaver upon cadaver swarmed in…

Somewhere in the background, the blunderbuss fired, and the superheroine whistled so that her freaky alien dog would help her in this fight. The villain snapped his fingers and suddenly the Gusher mutants were at his heels. He hopped out the shattered window, leaving Deadeye to care about the zombies, and began stomping home. His hands balled into fists.

God damn did he hate necromancers.

He didn’t even get to burn down the art gallery.

~

The next day at school, John Egbert was surviving on the power of a breakfast can of Red Bull, a travel mug of black coffee, and a bland English muffin. That taught _him_ not to try and pull heists in the dead of night before a school day. He stared blankly at his biology homework, a chart of a plant cell, as the teacher droned on and on about nothing. He would kill for some sleep. Of course, if he swiveled his eyes to the other end of the classroom, Jade Harley was there, and looking perky as ever. That bitch. Her weird alien biology probably allowed her to operate perfectly fine on, like, an hour of sleep. And here he was, mouth thickly tasting of Red Bull and coffee.

If he had gotten to burn down the art gallery last night, maybe he would have been able to suck it up and deal. But he didn’t even get to do _that_. Fucking necromancer, ruining his perfect heist. He’d show him! Whoever he was.

He heard other students taking out their textbooks, and he followed suit. Yes, he would show that necromancer what for. He’d made a _new_ creation! Something far better then those stupid Gusher-dog-things. He could dump a bunch of science goo on one of his dad’s cakes and make a sort of colossal cake titan! Yes, brilliant! Actually, no, that was stupid. Anything could destroy a cake titan. He needed something non-food-related. Maybe a giant mecha. Those were cool. And then he could stomp that necromancer six feet under, where he belonged! Miss Betty would see who the truly worthy supervillain was! He let out an evil chuckle…

“John Egbert, what’s so funny?”

“Nothing, Miss Serket.” He stopped chuckling pretty quickly as his teacher tutted him and shook her head, adjusting her white glasses in that way she did when she didn’t want to publicly call you out. She went back to teaching from the biology book, and John sighed internally. He didn’t need school; he was an evil genius. He made science goo! And it did stuff! _Cool_ stuff! He didn’t need to learn about plant cells and all this other bullshit. He could be building a giant mecha in his room right now.

He heard the door open and close.

“Yeah, sorry I’m late, Bro’s a deadbeat and made me _walk_.”

Miss Serket took the pink ‘excused tardy’ slip from the late boy’s hands, gently shooing him away, but she adjusted her glasses once more. The boy rushed into his chair. John took a lazy glance over to him. He’d seen him before--Well, he’d seen him every day, always at his desk, in this dumb first hour biology class. But he was just another face in the crowd. Just some worthless sixteen-year-old teenage civilian, decently tall, and blond, with his record shirt and his sunglasses that he never bothered to take off, but if you squinted really hard when he lowered his head maybe you could see a glimpse of his reddish eyes…

...Oh.

Oh, _fuck_ no.

That...That was the necromancer from last night! Who else could it be!? He didn’t know any _other_ red-eyed sunglasses-wearing weirdos, so he had to be him! John cursed these sudden, inexplicable coincidences. Why couldn’t coincidences work in his favor!? He was stuck in biology class with that stupid necromancer that upstaged him. As Miss Serket droned on and on, elaborating needlessly on plants and their cells and organelles and whatnot, John found himself staring furiously at mister stupid sixteen-year-old hot necromancer guy. Wait, nix that, he wasn’t hot. Well, he had some sort of attractiveness to him. Photogenic look. The kind of guy when, if _he_ posted a selfie on Twitter or Tumblr or something, _everyone_ would like it. Dammit, he probably cursed John into thinking this shit, too. John stared harder, his mind racing for the proper words to curse him out with after class.

“...And that’s what the amyloplast does.” Miss Serket said with a smile. “Of course, amyloplasts are only found in _some_ …” She paused, looking at John and adjusting her glasses a third time. “John, are you paying attention?”

“H--Huh? Uh, yeah, yes Miss Serket.” He tore his eyes off of the fellow classmate for a moment, looking at the teacher. “Yes.”

She tutted and shook her head. “Let us move on to the mitochondrion…”

~

After school, John managed to catch the (supposed) necromancer by the school’s front door. “Greetings, _fiend_.” He said, trying to sound as sinister as possible, but also quietly because he did have a secret identity to preserve.

The blonde rose an inquisitive eyebrow. “Okay...Who the fuck are you?”

“Me? You should remember me. You ruined my glorious heist!”

“The art gallery?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah, I don’t know jack shit about that.” He adjusted his backpack, edged past John, and walked out the high school’s doors.

John went after him. “Oh, you’re lying! You’re that necromancer that stopped me from burning down the art gallery!”

“Y’know, if I could raise the dead--And I ain’t sayin’ I can, but if I could--I wouldn’t be gettin’ a C-minus in history.” He replied, snickering. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

John balled his fists, frowning. “You do so! You had those same dumb sunglasses on and everything!”

“That doesn’t prove shit.”

In the background, there was a colossal screech. A high-rise building toppled over, and above the wreckage was the horrible beaked face and massive tentacles of the kraken. Of course Baited Breath would have to pick today to release the kraken. She had the worst timing. “Who _else_ has red eyes then, huh?”

“Well, a lotta’ Mary-Sue OCs from DeviantART, of course.” He smirked. “You found me out. I am the elusive Mary-Sue. You wouldn’t believe the people who love me, they’d fuckin’ die at my feet, no problem. I need an emo-tastic name here, gimme a minute.”

The _whoosh_ of Deadeye flying off to stop both Baited Breath and the kraken went overhead. More crashes, more screeches. “Then--What _were_ you doing at four AM last night?” John insisted.

He lowered his shades just so he could shoot John a flat, ‘are-you-fucking-kidding-me’ type of look. “Seriously?” He said, pushing his shades back up. “Probably asleep, havin’ some decent dreams, not having the nerd from first hour interrogate me like he’s the goddamn chief of police.”

John sputtered, “ _N-nerd!?_ ” but didn’t have the time to dwell on it. The blond’s eyes flickered, then began glowing red, just bright enough to be noticeable through his shades. He groaned, then pressed two fingers to his ear and began muttering a bit. After a while, the glow stopped, and he lowered his fingers. “Swear to God, she’s some kinda control freak. ‘You’re usually closer to home by now’, who are you, my nonexistent mother?” He frowned and began stomping off as another building fell with one fell swoop from the sea monster. Why did Skaia City have to be costal?

But no matter. John dashed after him, sputtering incoherently for a moment, but soon managed to form words once again. “Y-Your _eyes_! They were _glowing_!”

“No.”

“And--And you were just talking to thin air!”

“Bluetooth.”

“Bluetooth doesn’t make your eyes glow, dumbass.”

There was a brief pause as they both walked side-by-side, but John could physically feel the blond’s eyes rolling. “Look, what’s it to ‘ya?”

John paused, taken slightly aback. “What?”

“What’s it to ‘ya that I’m the necromancer from the art gallery?” He asked, shooting a glance at John. “You weren’t there.”

“Wh--Of course I was!” John stood up straighter, trying to make himself look imposing. “I’m _Doctor Hat-Trick_ , and I was going to burn that gallery to the ground before you showed up and ruined everything!”

“...You’re the shrimp who jumped out the window and ran away with your fuckin’ lap dogs?”

“Gusher mutants! They were Gusher mutants! And they were very cool and very threatening, thanks for asking.”

“...Uh-huh.” He said as flatly as one could possibly hum those two syllables, and John felt yet another eye roll. “‘Course they were, you tell yourself that. So, did you just want to come and insult me or what?”

John frowned, crossing his arms. “Of course not, what do you take me for?” The blond opened his mouth for a witty reply, but the kraken gave a pained squeal from the background, and just barely audible was Baited Breath’s angered shouts that some lousy alien teenager defeated her kraken. The blond opted out of his snark, and when he closed his mouth, John seized his opportunity. “I want us to team up.”

“ _What._ ”

“Okay, you’re terrible and horrible and you upstaged me and I hate you, but c’mon. I’m a genius prodigy, you raise the dead, we could have some decent schemes going for us. C.R.o.C.K.E.R. will have to take notice! And then we’ll be part of Miss Betty’s nefarious league and I’ll never have to talk with you again.”

The blond paused, as though mentally weighing his options about this offer. “Okay, first you fuckin’ interrogate me and get all up on my case for upstaging your two-bit crime, and now you wanna team up. I--I’m just makin’ sure I got this all clear, because I do not see the logical mental progression to get to this.”

“Are you going to take the offer or not?”

“Of course I’m taking the goddamn offer, dweeb like you needs all the help he can get.”

“...I am not a _dweeb_!”

~

Under the pretense that John had made a new friend, John’s dad had allowed him to go over to this alleged ‘friend’s house, which as it turned out was a pretty shitty apartment complex. John was less than impressed, but the blond (who eventually mentioned that his name was Dave Strider, which could _not_ be an actual name, that sounded like the name of a goddamn supermodel...This wasn’t helping his case about not being attracted to his strangely photogenic self, was it?) assured him it was for strictly ironic purposes and his brother was, like, some kind of quasi-millionaire due to his highly successful puppet porn website. Now John was very grossed out, but Dave took it in stride, picking up a small box from Amazon that was left outside his apartment door as he unlocked the door and led John inside.

Immediately they were greeted by this slimy, sucking sound. Dave groaned and said loudly, “God, Rose, _simmer the fuck down_! You’re gonna become goddamn calamari if you keep bein’ like that. Look, I made a friend, he’s right here, say hello.”

There were a few wet popping noises, like tentacles on hollow metal. “She says hi.” Dave assured him as he shrugged off his backpack and sat on the couch, peeling the tape off the box.

John took a wary glance around the apartment’s parlor. He didn’t really _see_ anything out of the ordinary, but he kept hearing a wet, squishy sound. Slowly, he approached the noise, being led to a small door in the hallway. He touched the knob--

“Yeah, you wanna keep that closed. Last one who opened that came out some kinda freaky-ass spider-praying mantis-human with too many goddamn arms abomination.” Dave opened the box, smiling wide at it’s contents. “Online shopping is the best and don’t let anyone say otherwise.”

He retracted his hand, walking back to Dave. “So...What exactly _is_ Rose?”

“Some kinda weird black tentacle monster thing. She lives behind my washing machine and eats all my goddamn socks-- _AND YOU WONDER WHY I GO TO THE LAUNDROMAT THREE FUCKIN’ BLOCKS AWAY_!”

Angry screeching noises came from the door in the hall. John jumped, startled, but Dave just chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t know how she got there either, but she’s why I can raise the dead, so I’m not complaining. Hey, you wanna watch a fuckton of nineties horror flicks?” He held up the contents of the box, which were revealed to be DVDs. “I have now just obtained all the goddamn _Leprechaun_ movies and I intend to marathon them.”

John lowered his eyelids, crossing his arms. “ _Dave_ , we have a _scheme_ to plan here! We can’t watch some--Okay, why is the leprechaun in the hood, seriously? And why does he go back? And space?”

Dave waved the DVDs, smiling. “Well, I guess we’re gonna have to watch these things and find out the answers to our vital questions.”

Frowning, John huffily walked over to the couch and plopped down. “I will watch these movies, but only _reluctantly_!”

“...Do you always sound like you’re trying to consume the scenery around you, or is that a special thing you do for me?”

“All good supervillains are large hams, Dave, that’s just fact.”

“No wonder you’ve never actually pulled off any crimes.”

~

Okay, that night had turned into a marathon of the _Leprechaun_ movies, at least until John’s dad decided it was high time John came home, so they didn’t even get through the whole series. But that was fine. _Today_ they would plan a glorious scheme that would leave Deadeye in the dust and prove themselves as villains worthy of joining C.R.o.C.K.E.R..

“So, I was thinking,” John said as he and Dave walked towards the school’s front doors, “What if you just told me some things you’re into, and then I could make some kinda giant mecha that combines our interests!”

“First of all, that sounds really lame.” Dave replied flatly, but he smirked. “Giant mecha though--Okay, I’ll dig that. Uh, I like rap music. Video games. Swords. Puppets are okay enough. Make a fuckin’ giant puppet robot, that’d be cool as shit. No, wait, make a giant mech out of plants! That’d be ironic. Irony is rad.”

John worked his mouth uselessly for a few moments before sighing and saying, “I can’t make a mech out of _plants_ , Dave.”

He opened the door, smiling. “Aw, can’t even awaken some dormant earth god we can ride around on and _call_ it a giant mech?”

He shot him a look as he walked through the door, and Dave laughed, following behind John. “Nah, nah, I’m jokin’. Swords, though--That’d be cool on a robot, keep those.”

“I planned to.” John assured him as Dave quickly got alongside John again. “So then we’ll ride along on it’s back, destroying buildings and toppling trees and generally fucking shit up, probably with a horde of zombies and some food-themed mutants by our side.”

“Sweet, mindless property damage. No food mutants though, if your lap dogs are anythin’ to go by, they’re all lame as shit.”

“ _Gusher mutants_!” John feverishly corrected. “They were _Gusher mutants_ , and they were super cool and you’re just jealous.” He childishly stuck out his tongue.

The necromancer chuckled. “Yes, you caught me John. I’m jealous of your weird as hell lap dogs made of a gummy snack food. I can raise the _fucking dead_ , but this is what I’m jealous of. You have outdone me, you genius, you.”

John rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the snark. Dave smirked back as they went off on their separate ways to their lockers.

~

The next day, John was clearly running on the power of black coffee and Red Bull again, but he considered this a small price to pay. After school, the sleep-deprived genius and the necromancer went over to John’s house, trotting into his backyard. A giant mech awaited there, arms made of lavish blades and a glass domed ceiling at the top, beefy and metal and with a nice paint job, to boot.

Dave rose his eyebrows, nodding in approval. “Not gonna lie, this is a damn good mecha.”

“Thank you.” John smiled wide. “Not so hard to make, really, when you’re a genius like me. It was more of a matter of not passing out in the middle of the night.”

“You made this thing in one night?”

John laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, no, no. I made _this_ in one night.” He whipped out a small, black box, with a red button atop it. “After I made this, the mecha took, like, three minutes.”

Dave stared at the box for a long moment. “...Okay...What the fuck is that.”

“It’s my favorite invention, actually. You press the button and you begin an eighties montage! Really easy to build stuff when you’re in an eighties montage. And you get some kickass background music and--”

“Okay, what the shit--You made a box that can fuckin’ _bend reality_ into _eighties montages_ , and your gimmick is food mutants and mechas!?” Dave took off his sunglasses, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing loudly. “Bending reality, John! You could _do_ things with this!”

“Eternity’s Handmaid can manipulate time and you’re not hung up over that.”

“...Because she didn’t _build_ it in a fuckin’ _box_.” He put his shades back on, shaking his head. “Whatever. Can we get the eighties montage where we beat Deadeye and wrangle our way into C.R.o.C.K.E.R. and become the greatest supervillains ever? I’d dig that eighties montage. And set it to the song from _Rocky_ , because I want to be Stallone, goddammit. I, too, want to not move half my mouth and star in that _Judge Dredd_ movie where nobody can say ‘law’ without sounding like a large ham.”

John rolled his eyes, tucking the eighties montage box back into his pocket. He beckoned to Dave, and he followed behind to the back of the robot. John flipped a switch, and a ramp fell from the back hatch of the mecha. “Alright, into the robot, Stallone. We’ve got shit to fuck up.”

“ _Hell_ to the _yes_.” Dave grinned, getting into the robot. John followed, and the hatch closed. He flipped another switch, the robot shuttering to life, buttons lighting up. He smiled wide, pulling a few levers, as the robot rose to it’s full height. “Okay, raise some dead guys. We’ll cause some reckless property damage and then book it back home before Deadeye sends us to jail. I dunno how I’m gonna explain that to my dad.” John said, studying the buttons and testing to make sure everything seemed to work.

Dave nodded, his eyes flickering and glowing once more--But the glow halted. “...Can we get an eighties montage of us fucking shit up?”

“...Yeah, sure.”

He grinned, his eyes literally lighting up. From the ground, a few cadavers got their way up to the top, gathering around the mecha. John whipped out the eighties montage box, hit the button, and then began pulling some levers to make the robot walk out of his backyard.

Here there was an intricate eighties montage of reckless property damage, zombies, panicking civilians, and general villainy. Intercut here and there were shots of John and Dave laughing and goofing off, and then panicking because Deadeye found them out. A battle between the superhero and the mecha took place, in which the mecha was destroyed and both the nefarious Doctor Hat-Trick and the recently named Dead Beats (since now that this was going to be in the newspapers, using their supervillain alises seemed fitting) were sent running back home like pussies so they wouldn’t be taken to jail. With the help of many zombies, they narrowly avoided capture.

In total, the montage lasted around five minutes, just long enough for the full version of the song from _Rocky_ to play.

~

It’s amazing what one good eighties montage can do.

John’s previous animosity towards Dave for upstaging the whole art gallery thing had faded, replaced with what one might call a genuine camaraderie. They weren’t just working together because John was a dweeb and Dave for all intents and purposes was a nobody in the supervillain world, they were working together because they actually enjoyed it. That Saturday, John had convinced his dad to allow him to sleep over at Dave’s apartment, and they spent the night goofing off, eventually watching the news report that Dave recorded just so they could see what the newscasters had to say.

“...This is the first we’ve seen of these new supervillains that has, frankly, been newsworthy.” Veronica, the newswoman, said flatly. “They were not captured by Deadeye, but we are assured that next time they try to wreck our beloved Skaia City, they will be locked up. Until then, keep an eye out for Dead Beats and Doctor Hat-Trick. And now, the weather with Cecil…”

“ _Newsworthy!?_ This is the first _newsworthy_ thing!?” John said, appalled. “I’ve been arrested _four_ _times_ , and had to have dad bail me out _four times_ , and this is the first time Veronica finds me _newsworthy_!?”

“Veronica’s a bitch.” Dave replied, smirking. “Eh, well, that’s what they had to say on the matter. So,” He turned to John, “You got another scheme planned to prove Veronica wrong?”

“Of course. Okay, we’re going to make this ray gun that turns things into cake! You can’t work when your office is _cake_ , can you, civilians!? We will put a whole bunch of people out of jobs, therefore wrecking the entire Skaia City economy-- _Deliciously_!” He tilted his head back and laughed villainous (and incredibly hammy) laughter. When his laughing faded, he looked over to Dave, who did not look pumped to turn buildings into cake. “...What?”

Dave crossed his arms, shaking his head. “...Okay, cake is nice ‘n all, but we’re tryin’ to prove that Miss Betty _needs_ us, not that we’re some kinda losers with a food theme.” He leaned back, thinking. “Y’know what we should do? Mind control. You whip me up some turntables, and I’ll drop some funky rhymes and put the town under mind control with the sweetass rhythm.”

John paused, thinking about it, though it didn’t take too long for him to say, “Yeah, that’s probably the better idea.”

“See? Without me, you wouldn’t be worth shit as a supervillain. So,” He cracked a grin, “Who wants to watch more _Leprechaun_?”

“Hell yeah.”

~

One month and ten super awesome schemes later (only two of which performed with the use of the montage box), John and Dave were laughing in front of Dave’s television. Various bits and bobs were scattered about, since Dave’s place had apparently become their new supervillain lair. Bro was apparently okay with it (as long as it didn’t get in the way of his porn, all was well).

It was the first weekend in May, and Bro had made the dire mistake of getting a whole bunch of Dark Lord beer mailed in from a friend in Indiana whom he made friends with just for the specific purpose of getting this beer mailed to him. Since Bro wasn’t home, John and Dave had seized the box and decided to celebrate eleven successful schemes without being caught by Deadeye by playing the Stephen King Drinking Game. So they stuck in _It_ , and made the very dire mistake of taking a shot for every flashback, a rule they should have known better to disregard. So, between the sheer number of shots they ended up having to take by the three-fourths mark, plus the high alcohol content of this beer, they ended up completely drunk.

“We are so gonna die ‘a alcohol poisonin’!” Dave laughed, shaking his head. “I dun’ even _know_ how ‘yah managed ‘tah talk me inta this.”

“Not my faaaaaault!” John whined, falling dramatically into Dave’s chest. The blonde laughed and tried to push him off, but to no avail; John just kept falling back onto his friend. He stopped trying, and they both cracked up over nothing.

“So, I was thinkin’,” Dave began snickering between words, “Our next heist--’Yah listenin’?--We become fuckin’ killer clowns. We--We’ll mutate into Tim Curry!” He began laughing again, grinning ear to ear, gesturing vaguely with a mostly-empty Dark Lord bottle. “We’ll put our faces on th’ moon, and we’ll eat kids! Do--” Another stop as he was overtaken by a laughing fit, “Do ‘yah have Prince Albert in a can?”

“You _do_?” John smiled. “Well, then, ‘ya better let th’ poor guy out!”

They both laughed in their finest (drunk) Tim Curry as a killer clown impression: “WA-HAH! WA-HAH! WA-HAH! WA-HAH!” This made them both practically collapse in laughing fits, Dave’s shades falling off his face and onto the floor. In the background, Rose made squawking sounds of disapproval, but neither of the boys cared what the horrible abomination behind the washing machine said.

“Shitfuckin’ _christ_ we shoulda’ watched _Langoliers_.” Dave shook his head, a doofy smile on his face. “SO many less flashbacks! Fuckin’ shit--Less Tim Curry, too! If I wanted mah’ Tim Curry, I woulda’ watched-- _Fuck_ , we coulda’ done a _Rocky Horror_ drinkin’ game, ‘yah fuckin’ piece of shit!” Dave hit John with his bottle, but gently, not being able to work up the properly injure his companion. Probably for the better. “I want a singin’ Tim Curry! Right _now_! We’re missin’ _opportunities_ , Joan, they’re passin’ us by!”

John fell into Dave’s lap, and this time Dave made no effort to push him away. Neither of them had a clue what was going on in the movie anymore, but it wasn’t like that mattered. They both just chuckled for a while, then John looked up at the underside of Dave’s chin. “‘Ya know, ‘ya remember that time--That time I ran ‘way like a fuckin’ pussy at the art gallery? With my lap dogs?”

Dave looked down at him, grinning. “Who th’ fuck forgets the lap dogs?”

“Hah, I know! Fuckin’ dumb--What was I _on_ , really? Anyway--Then I found ‘ya the next day in bio? ‘Ya wanna know somethin’?”

“Fuck yeah I wanna know.”

“I totally thought you looked hot. Like, I made this _fuckin’ dumb_ comparison usin’ Twits and Tumbles or what the shit to justify how hot you are! Like, like the _sun. Sun._ ” John reached up and batted his hand around Dave’s face, eventually booping his nose. Dave’s face scrunched up, and John laughed. “You’re fuckin’ fantastic, Davey.”

“Woah, woah, I couldn’t do _diddly squat_ wit’out my numbah’ two right here.” Dave reached down and booped John’s nose right back. “You’re th’ best lil’ dweeb ever. Where would I even be wit’out ‘yah? Probs just raisin’ the dead like some _creep_!” He shook his head, laughing at this thought. “Joan, ‘yah pulled me outta’ the shitty supervillain gutter, ‘an you nevah forget that.”

“You pulled me out first.”

“Aw, did not!”

“Did so!”

“Did not--Wait, the fuck? _Tim Curry is a spider now_ , Jonah. Holy fuck shit christ on a stick. Do we take a shot for that?”

“Hah, fuck if I know!” John took a swig from his bottle, and Dave followed suit; the night dissolving in a blur of Dark Lord, Stephen King, and lots of laughing.

~

Of course, neither was laughing when they both woke up with headaches that made it seem like their heads were trying to pull themselves apart and puke on their shirts. “ _Shit_.” Dave cursed, prying himself off the sofa. He took a few staggering steps towards the kitchen sink (his legs feeling like jelly), something soon snapping under his feet. He looked down, cursing in pain, seeing that he had broken his sunglasses. Fuck. He trudged off to the sink, opening cupboards haphazardly to try and find some Aspirin.

“Huh…?” John said groggily, looking around. He had somehow managed to end up on the floor, wrapped like a burrito in what appeared to be a bedsheet with a _He-Man_ theme. “...Why...Why do you own _He-Man_ bedsheets, Dave?”

Dave looked at John, blinking a few times, then shrugged. “I didn’t know I _did_.” He replied, going back to the cupboard. There, next to the Jif Hazelnut Spread (since Bro refused to buy normal Nutella just to spite him), was the Aspirin. He dumped some into his hand and got a cup, flicking on the faucet. “Bro musta’ got them from Goodwill or something...Some really specific fetish someone had for porn, I don’t know.” He put the pills into his mouth, swallowing a few large gulps of water afterwards. He put the cup down and exhaled loudly. “Fuck did we do last night?”

John shimmied out of the burrito he was in, standing slowly and adjusting his (very dirty) glasses which he apparently ended up falling asleep in. “Well...Bro left his Dark Lords and we started the Stephen King drinking game.” He recounted, shuffling off towards Dave. The blonde handed him some Aspirin, and John took it eagerly. After he swallowed the water, he went on, “Really stupid mistake, that shit’s clearly not for amateurs. Guess we got drunk off our asses.”

Dave sighed loudly, rubbing his temples. “That much is clear. Shit tastes great, but I am _never_ having another Dark Lord again.”

“Ditto.” John nodded, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Ugh, boy...And you went off about wanting to become Tim Curry for our next scheme?”

Dave managed to force a chuckle for that. “Oh my God. Let’s never do that, ever.”

John laughed as well, nodding again. “For sure.” Pause. His mind wandered back, trying to see what it could recover from last night’s drunken haze. It didn’t find much, besides the Tim Curry thing...Until it...Until it hit something. His face flushed red as he staggered away from the kitchen counter, back towards the couch and the _He-Man_ sheet on the ground. “Crap…”

“What?” Dave looked over.

“Oh, jeez…” John rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, I just remembered something, but it’s kinda a doozy…”

“After hearing I wanted to become Tim Curry, John, I think I can take anything.”

His eyes wandered down to the discarded Dark Lord bottles on the floor. “Er, well, I…” He hesitated. Oh, come on, John, you could own up to this. You were Doctor Hat-Trick! You feared nothing! Not jail, not Deadeye, not even death! You could own up to something you might have said when you were drunk. “I, might of...Um, er...Might have said you were hot?”

Dave snickered. “Aren’t I, though?”

“Dave, this is _serious_. We just began talking about...About how fantastic we both were and...How we pulled each other out of the shitty supervillain gutter.”

There was a pause. Dave instinctively reached to adjust his shades, but of course they weren’t there, so he retracted his hand. “Uh, yeah, that’s kinda weird.”

“Yeah.” He agreed, swallowing. “I mean...Yeah, it was kinda weird, for sure.”

He rose an eyebrow as John’s hesitations. “...But you didn’t mean it...Right?” John didn’t answer right away, and Dave gave a little nod, as though trying to egg him on. But he still didn’t reply. “...It was a stupid drunken love confession like everyone gives, _right_?” And yet John still didn’t have the nerve to say a thing. Dave emitted a small sigh. “...Huh.”

“Maybe I do like you, okay!” John suddenly said loudly, all huffy. “I...Yeah, I meant it. I didn’t want to admit it because I saw you as a rival and then a better, but...You always look really nice and you’re _smart_ and you’re funny and twice the villain I’d ever be.”

Another pause. Dave took a step or two towards John, making his way towards him, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. “...You remember what I said back then?”

“Uh...Something about being your best number two and helping you out with that aforementioned shitty supervillain gutter?”

“Yeah, well, I mean that too.” John looked back at him, startled, but Dave just smirked. “C’mon. Where would I be without you? You make things for me, I plan the crimes, and then we carry them out together. It’s nice, y’know. And hey, for a dweeb, you don’t look half bad yourself.” Dave ruffled John’s hair, and John worked his mouth for a few moments to try and find a proper reply. Not one could be found. Dave snickered. “You got that montage box on you?”

“Mmmm...Yeah.”

“We need a cleaning montage, before Bro finds out we drank some of his Dark Lords. You on it?”

John pulled out the box. “I’m on it.” He hit the button with one swift tap.

Turns out, there’s not a whole lot of good music for cleaning in a montage. But hey, they at least they got that song about a car wash playing in the back. It was fitting enough as the montage showed them tucking away the _He-Man_ sheet, cleaning up stray puke lingering around, changing their clothes, and recycling the beer bottles. Hey, they may be supervillains, but they still liked to recycle. Go green and all that jazz.

~

Two weeks and two more heists later, John and Dave found themselves at Chili’s, laughing over ideas for their next excellent plan.

“So, here’s an idea!” John smiled, sipping his strawberry lemonade. “What if we take some of your Bro’s puppets and dump my science goo on it? We could get these mutant creepy puppets as slaves! Just have some wreck anarchy; they’re creepy to begin with, they’d be even worse as mutants. Not sure what we’d do with them afterward…”

“Actually, that’s not a half bad idea.” Dave had managed to tell the waitress with a straight face to get him an apple juice, and amazingly, she did. He took a sip of the juice now, thinking. “Just not Cal, though. Too risky. What if he turns into a hot guy and everyone wants to inexplicably get with him? Like that one puppet from _Goosebumps_ ; trust me, John, I’ve read lots of fanfiction and--”

“You read _Goosebumps_ fanfiction?”

“I read _Goosebumps_ fanfiction _ironically_. I also read _The Babysitters Club_ fanfics. And _Twilight_. I have read a fuckton of _Twilight_ fanfiction, you wouldn’t even comprehend.”

John rose an inquisitive eyebrow. “Y’know, Dave, these are facts that could have waited until _after_ our date.”

It was Dave’s idea, of course, to have their first real date at Chili’s. Over those two weeks, between the planning and building of things for those aforementioned two heists, they had begun talking about if they wanted to pursue this relationship. After all, drunken pseudo-love confessions weren’t the best way to begin a relationship. But they both, eventually, agreed that they wanted to. So they decided, y’know, why not make it official with a date? They pitched around restaurants for a while, but Dave desired something reasonably affordable, and Chili’s just happened to be reasonably affordable and have acceptable food! Fantastic. So that’s how both of them ended up at Chili’s, waiting for their food and talking about future schemes and (apparently) fanfiction.

“Yeah, but I think you needed to know what fanfics I was into.” He smirked. He took another swig of his apple juice and went on, “Or, or, we could make this one big horrifying puppet titan! Just wreck a whole bunch of shit with this magnificent plush abomination. Fan-fuckin’-tastic. Wonder what the newspaper headlines will read. It better be a pun. If it’s not a pun about puppets, I am gonna call the newspaper guy and personally threaten him. Decapitation, I dunno. Point is, if it ain’t a pun, someone’s getting hurt.”

“Dave, can you _not_ talk about decapitations? Or, at least, do so a lot quieter? Chili’s is a _family_ restaurant.”

“Well, excuse me for discussin’ our plans.” He chuckled, but paused suddenly. His eyes flickered and began glowing again, unmuted from the lack of shades on Dave’s face (since he was too lazy to get a new pair). He sighed loudly, shading his eyes with one hand and looking down as he muttered, “What _is_ it, Rose? Yes, we’re doing fine--He’s happy, I’m happy-- _No_ , this is not part of a scheme, we’re having a _date_ here!--My dick is _nowhere near_ his--Why would you even say…” He paused to bang his head on the table a few times. At this point John noticed that some of the other customers were staring, and he shooed away their looks with his hands. They reluctantly obliged. Dave’s eyes faded, and he sighed again. “God, could Rose _get_ more overprotective? It’s a goddamn date, goddamnit. I need new shades, STAT.”

“Funny you should mention that…” John smirked as he pulled out a small gift bag from beside him and set it on the table. “I might have gotcha’ something! Y’know, to celebrate our first official date and all.”

He looked at the bag for a while, then smirked. “Thank God you’re not as eternally lazy as I am, John.” He threw the tissue paper out of the bag, soon coming up with a nice pair of wayfarers. He stuck them on his face. “Hell yeah, I look fuckin’ sweet.”

“There’s more! It’s in the bag still, c’mon, pull it out!”

Dave rose an eyebrow but shuffled through the bag a bit, before pulling out a small certificate. He looked at it for a while, then his mouth went into a smile--Not one of his cocky smirks, but a genuine full-on grin. “Oh, you _didn’t_ …”

“I did!”

“These are the _actual_ shades Ben Stiller wore? Are you serious? How did you even--”

“Remember when we robbed the Skaia City Bank of Liberty? _Well_ …”

“Oh my God.” Dave leaned on the table, bending slightly forward, closer to John. “Man, if there wasn’t this obnoxious table keepin’ me from you, I’d so totally kiss you for this.”

John leaned on the table as well, bending closer to Dave. “I think we can make it work.”

They went in…

There was a loud explosion, and dust and rubble went flying. The wall to John and Dave’s left had been completely blown up, and dashing in was another supervillain, Squeezehorn, ran in. He was laughing like a madman, hurling more (probably also rigged with bombs) banana-cream pies around Chili’s interior. Deadeye wasn't too far behind him, flying in with two flintlock pistols. Ballistic was at her heels, fur on end. “It’s alright, civilians!” She assured the diners, “I’ve got this fiend under control--But just in case there is bombs in those pies, I’d like it if you all left in something resembling an organized--”

Everyone began running out in a manner that could not be described as ‘organized’ whatsoever. Squeezehorn laughed at them, watching them run, reveling in their screams. With their date thoroughly ruined, John and Dave followed the panicking civilians and got as far away as they could from the Chili’s.

“Fuckin’ clowns.” Was all Dave had to say on the matter.

~

On a cloudy Saturday, waiting for the three o’clock C.R.o.C.K.E.R. update, John was in his room. He was finishing the paint job on a ray gun, one that could literally attract paper money right to them, like a magnet. All the fun of bank heists with half the work! It was brilliant. The Gusher mutants, which he hadn’t gotten rid of, watched him work from their positions on the floor. They really had gone from planned evil minions to...Lap dogs. He’d have to make a new science goo and try again sometime, make some actually evil Gusher mutants. Because they were cool as hell.

As he began the final details of the paint job, the familiar jingle of his favorite three o’clock report chimed.

_“This is the three o’clock C.R.o.C.K.E.R. update, with your hosts, Archie and Reginald.”_

“Hello, loyal fans!” Archie smiled wide. “Welcome to the daily C.R.o.C.K.E.R. update, where we tackle all the latest supervillain schemes and break the news on what, exactly, Miss Betty is up to.”

John swiveled in his chair, smirking. He hoped to hear something about him and Dave this time. Wouldn’t that be something! He shooed some of the mutants away with a foot and leaned forward, smiling.

“We begin with a special message from--” Reggie’s talking was cut off by a sudden burst of static. John straightened up, sighing. He got up and flicked the side of the TV a bit, as though that would fix the problem. “Aw, come on…”

A picture did, indeed, come back on. It showed a dark office, a desk, and a woman. The woman appeared to be a fifties housewife, with a sweet little blond bob, a neat red dress and an apron over it. The top half of her face was covered in shadows. “Do not adjust your set,” She said, in exactly the voice you’d expect from a fifties housewife, “And I do apologize for interrupting the program. This is Miss Betty speaking.”

John froze, staring at the TV. Miss Betty? _The_ Miss Betty? Granted, he expected to see something different, something that wasn’t a fifties housewife, but still--Miss Betty! _Nobody_ saw Miss Betty!

“I have come to say that my unwitting pawns and slaves against their own will, Archie and Reginald, were on to something. I was, in fact, looking for a new villain to join my esteemed group. I have been watching all you darling up-and-coming supervillains-- _And you, too, lowly civilians_ \--And I must say you have all done very, very well!” She applauded politely. “Well done! I’d make you all a cake, if I could. But there can only be one…”

It was foolish to get your hopes up, John, he told himself. There was probably a bunch more new supervillains more deserving of the position. But he couldn’t help himself, and he crossed his fingers, getting his hopes up despite his own advice.

“And so I am very pleased to announce the newest member of C.R.o.C.K.E.R., to work among the likes of me and the best supervillains in Skaia City.” She folded her hands on the desk, smiling wide. “And his name is…”

He crossed his fingers ever tighter…

“Dead Beats.” She applauded politely again. “So very well done! We’re sending an imperial squad over to your house so you may receive your uniform. Of course, you could reject our offer, but…” For the briefest of moments, her skin seemed to melt away, showing the form of a very strange, grey, finned alien. She leaned closer to the camera, showing crazy yellowish eyes and sharp teeth. “ _Why would you want to?_ ” She snarled, then leaned back, the guise of the fifties housewife coming back on. “We hope to see you then!”

The static washed over the picture again, soon cutting back to Archie and Reginald. They both were laughing over something, then Archie began talking once more…

John threw open his bedroom door without turning off the TV. The Gusher mutants yapped at him as he went off, but he didn’t care. He needed to get to Dave’s place, now.

~

John propped his bike up against the side of Dave’s apartment, then stared at the panel of buttons. He hit the number of Dave’s apartment, a harsh buzzing sound emitting.

“Okay, if it’s more C.R.o.C.K.E.R. shmucks, I already have a fruit basket, I don’t need--”

“It’s John.”

“Oh, sweet. C’mon in!”

Another buzzer, and the door clicked open. John went in, trotting over to Dave’s apartment and throwing open the door. Dave was there, in the living room, but he had different clothes. No longer did he have that shirt with a record on it; now it was a red polo, the C.R.o.C.K.E.R. logo embroidered into the collar, with neat white slacks as pants. Dave frowned at the outfit. “These uniforms are fuckin’ crap. C.R.o.C.K.E.R. is sweet and all, but Jesus fuck, what is with these uniforms?”

John chuckled slightly, closing the door behind him. “Yeah, it’s not that impressive.” He admitted, then paused. “So...That’s it, then? We’re not working together?”

“What?”

“Well, Miss Betty wanted you to join, and she only said _you_ , not _me_...I mean, you’ll want to be with the big boys, and I get it, I’m just here with my montage boxes and Gusher mutants…”

“Woah, woah, okay, simmer down Egbert.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, C.R.o.C.K.E.R. don’t mean jack shit. Without you, I’m just some two-bit necromancer, dime a dozen. Nobody gives a fuck about a two-bit necromancer. You’re the one who can make all the shit. C’mon, I basically owe you my victory. Why the fuck Betty didn’t bother with you I don’t know. You even bought her Gushers and made mutants out of them, did she miss that? Seriously? If someone bought my shit and made them into mutants, I’d let them win. Just hand them the victory, there is nobody else who could top that.”

John laughed again, smiling at Dave. “You really think so?”

“Of course. I don’t get wasted on Dark Lords with just anyone.” He smirked, giving John a quick, unprovoked peck on the cheek. “You’re my secret to my success, and I’ll never repay you for that.”

John flushed red, chuckling nervously. “Heh, thanks, Dave.” He slowly went over, sitting down on the couch. “So, who all showed up? Did Miss Betty personally congratulate you?”

“Fuck no, Betty is a lazy ass bitch who can’t bother to greet her newest member. Got to see The Heiress, though.”

“Little Janey!?”

“Yeah. If she didn’t look sorta like some robot, she’d be pretty hot, I’d be all over her.” He shot John a look, clearly showing he was joking. “Buncha’ the other guys came over, too, with fruit baskets and this goddamn piece of shit uniform. All said their congrats, all are waiting for my next scheme.” He paused, smirking at John. “Hey, you still up for that giant puppet titan?”

“Hell yeah I am!”

“Then you bust out that montage box, Doctor Hat-Trick. We’ve got some anarchy to wreck.”

John smiled, pulling out his montage box. “Whatever you say…” He gave his boyfriend a mocking salute. “Dead Beats.”

He hit the button, and the vocals of Set It Off rang out, as they sang the most fitting song in their repertoire for this particular moment.

Partners In Crime.

**Author's Note:**

> I swear to God, I'm not some sockpuppet identity made to just collab with Jay and then write things for Jay. I'll post things that aren't related to her sometime.
> 
> Anyhow, it's her birthday and I said I'd write her something, and of course I'm putting it here in case y'all enjoy it. So, dorky supervillain AU. Enjoy.


End file.
